Stigma Love's Algorithm [ A BTS x Reader Poly ]

Chapter 107: Mischief, Menace, and Moonlight 🔥

His presence hums beneath my skin.
I keep one hand on the mouse, clicking through export screens.

But he's still there.
Wrapped around me.
Breathing slow. Soft.

He traces the line of my collarbone with a featherlight finger. "You're my favorite view," he says, quiet now.

"Even when you're buried in timelines."

I finally let the mouse go.
Turn to face him.

"You're trouble."

"I'm your trouble."

And then-he kisses me.
Not gentle.
Not soft.

Not anymore.

Jungkook's mouth crashes into mine like he's starving for it-like he's been holding back and suddenly can't bear another second.

It's rough. Messy.
So fucking hot I nearly black out.

His lips drag over mine with open-mouthed hunger, tongue slipping past like a sin I want to drown in.

I gasp-he swallows it.

Tilts my head back and chases it deeper, licking into me like he wants to carve his name behind my teeth.

"Fuck," I breathe against him.

He growls-an actual growl-and rocks forward in my lap, hips grinding down slow, delicious, cruel.

His sweatpants do nothing to hide how hard he is.

My hands fly to his waist, fingers digging in, trying to keep up with how fast my body's unraveling.

He tastes like heat and mint and something unholy.

His hands are in my hair, fisting tight, keeping me exactly where he wants me.

My glasses are crooked.
My brain's offline.

He bites my bottom lip, pulls, then soothes it with his tongue.

"Kook," I hiss, but it comes out broken.

He just moans into my mouth-like my name is his favorite fucking flavor-and kisses me harder.

Sloppier. Dirtier.
He's not holding back. Not now.

His hips roll again, dragging against me, friction sharp and electric.

I can feel him, thick and throbbing, pressing right where I'm starting to ache.

I let out a sound I've never made before-needy, guttural, obscene-and he grins against my lips.

"You like that?" he pants, lips brushing mine.

"You're a menace," I whisper.

"I'm your problem now," he growls.

Then he kisses me again.

Bruising. Wet.
Tongue deep and claiming.

I kiss him back like I want to devour him. Like I need him more than oxygen.

My hands find his back, his thighs, anywhere I can touch.

His skin's hot and slick, muscles twitching under my fingers.

We're not just kissing.
We're devouring.

His moans are filthy.
Mine are worse.

The room fades-the lights, the rain, the soft music.

It's all drowned in the sound of lips and breath and that obscene, wet rhythm of mouths crashing again and again.

When we finally pull apart, panting, foreheads pressed together, I swear the air around us is vibrating.